Justin and his manager came over to speak with us – I recognized him straight away. They had been driving past and seen our lesson going on. They explained Justin was in town for his shows at the O2, that he enjoys his football, and would love to join in.

Justin even asked the teacher if he could take a few penalty shots. According to Noto, the Biebs was "pretty good."

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OK, so here's how I imagine this all went down, from Justin's perspective.

Justin Bieber is staring aimlessly out the backseat window of a black SUV. The bleak scenery of the city streaks by. He doesn't register any of it.

Justin can't even remember what city this is. Each meaningless day blurs into the next one. Another city, another concert, another day of fake smiles, fake fans, fake friends... God everyone is so fake!

His manager is clicking away on his iPad in the seat next to him. He's always on that damn iPad. Doesn't he ever crave genuine human connection?

But Justin's hardly one to talk. When's the last time he felt a true connection to someone? God, probably not since Selena. He doesn't have any real friends now. Not since her. Everyone pretends to like him, but he can tell -- he can tell it's not real...

They pull up to a stop light. Justin leans his head against the cool glass of the window, thinking maybe if he sleeps, he can briefly escape these punishing thoughts.

Then, a noise. At first Justin doesn't recognize it. It's been so long since he's heard it. But there it is again — the sounds of children laughing and shouting. It's the sound of fun.

Justin closes his eyes. Remembers a time, long ago, when he wasn't on the outside of those sounds. Before Justin Bieber, before YouTube, before Selena, when he was just Justin. When he was just a kid playing soccer with his friends, his real friends, on a shabby field in Ontario.

It's so distant it feels like a dream, or maybe like a memory someone else could have, but not him. But no, he know's it's real. That used to be him. He used to be happy, once.

"Pull over."

"What?"

Scooter looks up from his iPad, startled. "Do you feel sick?"

"Pull over," Justin says, louder this time. "PULL OVER!"

The driver — Justin doesn't know his name — finally complies, and brings the SUV to the side of the road.

Justin jumps out of the car, and it feels like escaping his prison cell. A gentle breeze touches his face, and he nearly breaks down in tears.

He takes off in the direction of the soccer game, Scooter fast on his heels.

"Justin? Justin! Where are you going? Wait!"

Justin ignores him. He can be happy again, he knows he can, if only for half an hour. He can have this life he used to have, one more time...